


We All Used to Have Heroes

by TheSilentBard



Category: Adventures in Odyssey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:47:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29730648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilentBard/pseuds/TheSilentBard
Summary: Frank Malone, the newest journalist on staff at the Odyssey Times, is excited about his first big story at the paper. It's an interview with his hero, Aldous Pentworth, former journalist and current author. But he learns the hard way that you should never meet your heroes.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	We All Used to Have Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a flash fic based on a conversation I had with my roommate about the Adventures in Odyssey episode "Heroes" from album three. Both of us wondered what had ever happened to the journalist Frank Malone to make him so callous about having heroes. In particular, his words to Jimmy stuck with us: "I used to have heroes, too. You'll get over it."
> 
> Sure, this could just be a generic statement about the process of growing up we all go through. Or, it could be rooted in a very specific life experience. So that's what I've written here. The birth of Frank Malone's cynicism.

Frank Malone, junior reporter, tightened his grip on his clipboard as he waited in the atrium of the large publishing house headquarters in Chicago. He was meeting Aldous Pentworth today for an interview. _The_ Aldous Pentworth! He couldn’t believe his luck. The editor of the Odyssey Times thought Frank had potential, and this assignment was his first test. He had to prove to Mr. DeVries that he had what it took to be a hard-hitting journalist like the rest of them.

But still, Aldous Pentworth, one of the greatest journalists and authors of their time, was a score he just couldn’t believe.

“Don’t let a single juicy bit of information slip past you, you got that, boy?” Mr. DeVries had practically shouted after calling Frank to his office to give him the assignment.

But Frank Malone didn’t scare so easy. He had all the grit and determination necessary for this job, despite his youth.

“Frank Malone?” The receptionist called and Frank stood. “Mr. Pentworth will see you now.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Frank took up his clipboard and pen and headed for the elevator.

“He’s on floor twelve.”

Frank punched in the number and the metal doors creaked shut. He had so many questions for Mr. Pentworth. What had inspired him to become a writer? How had his childhood informed his writing of _The Last True Summer_? What was he planning to write next? Why had he quit his job as a journalist to become a novelist?

These questions buzzed in Frank’s head as the elevator came to a jittering stop and the doors screeched open. The twelfth floor had a sitting room very similar to the reception area on the first floor. He flashed his press pass to the receptionist here and said, “I’m here for the interview with Mr. Pentworth.”

The receptionist raised an eyebrow. “You’re a bit young to be a journalist, aren’t you?”

Frank puffed out his chest proudly. “Youngest writer on staff at the Odyssey Times, sir.”

He laughed. “Don’t tell that to Mr. Pentworth.”

Frank frowned. What an odd comment. “Is he in there?” Frank pointed to a door on the left behind the receptionist’s desk.

The receptionist nodded, waving him on. “Yes, just go right in. He’s expecting someone from the Odyssey Times.”

“Thank you.”

Frank felt butterflies spring up in his stomach as he entered the fancy office. One wall was entirely glass windows overlooking downtown Chicago. In front of it was a modern chic desk with a large typewriter and neat stacks of paper beside it. And behind the desk sat none other than Aldous Pentworth.

He was a tall, thin man with thick black hair and piercing eyes. He dressed sharply in a gray suit and bowtie and wore a gold watch on his left wrist. Frank made mental notes of his appearance for the article.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pentworth. I’m Frank Malone with the Odyssey Times.” Frank buzzed with anticipation. He had so many questions.

Aldous Pentworth eyed him up and down with displeasure. “I didn’t realize the Odyssey Times hired _children_.” His lip curled on the word ‘children.’ He motioned towards a chair in front of his desk. “Let’s get this over with then, shall we?”

Frank felt a sudden sinking sensation. This was not how he had imagined the interview with his journalistic hero going. But he had grit and determination, darn it. He was going to write an article like Mr. DeVries wouldn’t believe!

“Do you mind?” Frank produced a recorder from his pocket and placed it on the desk.

“By all means.”

Frank started the recording device and the hum of the tape sputtered quietly to life. “All right, I’ll start with the basics.” He clicked his pen and started writing on his clipboard. He wanted to take notes of his own thoughts from the interview, write down details of the room or Pentworth’s reactions. “Where did you grow up?”

“Charlottesville, Virginia.”

“When did you first become interested in a career in journalism?”

“Sophomore English class. My teacher told me that I ought to join the school paper, and the rest is history.”

“What is your most formative memory from Charlottesville, the thing which shaped you into the man you are today?”

“What is this, a puff piece on my childhood?” Aldous sneered. “Come on, boy. Ask the questions you really want the answers to.”

Frank ground his pen into the paper, leaving a black blot on the page. Every reporter established the basics first, that’s what Mr. DeVries had taught him. You could tell a lot about a person from the way they answered the simplest questions. He met Aldous Pentworth’s mocking gaze and asked with determination in his voice, “All right, then. Why did you become an author? You were at the height of your journalism career. You even won a Pulitzer in journalism the very year you quit the Chicago Tribune!”

Pentworth nodded, wearing a sharp grin. “Let me guess. You’re a fan?”

“In a sense, yes.” Frank scribbled a note. “I followed your career. I especially admired your work on the Westcott Pipeline story.”

“Ah, yes. The Westcott Pipeline,” Pentworth sniffed. “You want to know a secret, kid?”

Frank put his pen to the paper again and nodded. “Go on.”

“Journalism’s a racket. You don’t get good stories without paying your sources.” He rubbed his fingers together meaningly. “Grease the wheels. People will tell you _anything_ for the right price.”

Frank frowned, pen pausing on the page. “You’re telling me that you _bribed_ your sources?”

“Bribery is such a coarse word, but yes, essentially.” Pentworth tapped his finger twice on the desk. “Any journalist worth their salt knows people won’t talk without a little incentive.”

“But what if they’re lying to you?” Frank protested, his notetaking forgotten. “What if they’re just telling you what you want to hear for the money?”

“So?” Pentworth stood up and moved to face his massive windows, then looked down to the streets of Chicago where miniature people were going about their daily lives. “Stories sell papers, not the truth.”

Frank’s gut twisted. “And the Westcott Pipeline—the news that put thousands of people out of a job. Was that just a story, or was that the truth?”

“You tell me what _you_ think, kid.” Pentworth straightened his bowtie and looked over his shoulder at Frank. “Now, are you going to finish this interview, or should I let my secretary know that you’re not interested?”

“Mr. Pentworth,” Frank said with a shaking voice, “what you did wasn’t journalism. It was _libel_. Before today, I wanted to be just like you.” He met Pentworth’s hard gaze, barely restraining his frustration. “You were my hero.”

Pentworth answered coldly, “We all used to have heroes. You’ll get over it.” He walked over to his desk and pressed a button.

There was a buzz followed by the voice of his receptionist. “Yes, Mr. Pentworth?”

“Hello, Rob. Please escort Mr. Frank Malone out of the building,” Pentworth replied. “We’re done here."


End file.
